


Doctor-Patient Confidentiality

by tess_genor



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Claremont Needs Better Security, F/M, First Impressions, Kissing, Manipulation, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28849680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tess_genor/pseuds/tess_genor
Summary: At the suggestion of his therapist, Martin starts work in Claremont's infirmary. There he and the new hire, Dr. Capshaw, get to know each other a little bit better, though neither of them are honest about why they want to be there.
Relationships: Martin Whitly/Dr. Vivian Capshaw
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Doctor-Patient Confidentiality

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this the _second_ I found out that Catherine Zeta-Jones was going to be on pson

Dr. Higa looks at Martin with the kind of scrutiny that he usually reserves for the patients that Martin can’t stand. He taps his pen against the clipboard as Martin shifts in his chair, he didn’t do anything to deserve this kind of treatment, not really. With Endicott out of the way, Martin happily resumed his life in Claremont.

“I think a job will be good for you.” Dr. Higa says suddenly. “There’s a new doctor down in the infirmary, and we’re short staffed, so I think it’d be a good fit for you.”

“I’d get to flex some muscles I haven’t been able to use in so long.”

“Martin, it was only about a year ago that you operated on your daughter’s cameraman in your cell.”

Determined not to lose his reminiscent train of thought, Martin smiles, “True, but to be back in that sterile environment, to work under those lights. Oh how I’ve missed it.”

“Your reason for being at Claremont isn’t going overlooked, Martin. You _will_ be under the watchful eye of Dr. Capshaw.” Dr. Higa’s voice stays respectful but borders on patronizing.

Martin forces his disdain down as far as he can, but the urge to roll his eyes still finds its way from his brain, down his nerves, and to his muscles. Only realizing too late that his body would dare move without his permission, Martin halts the roll half way through.

”When do I start?” Martin coos. Describing him as eager would be an understatement. This was a clean start, a fresh break from the monotony of daily life at Claremont.

“Right now actually.” Looking to the door, Dr. Higa smiles and nods in greeting at the doctor on the other side of the door.

She’s not what Martin expected at all. Not that he wasn’t expecting Capshaw to be a woman, his class’ valedictorian was Penelope Vance and she was quite talented - though Martin did resent the attention she got from their peers - but Dr. Capshaw was already more than Vance was cracked up to be. She carries herself with such certainty, Martin wants nothing more to be in close quarters with this woman, surrounded by nothing but the tools that gave them power over life and death. Ah the beauty of it all.

Her black heels are impractical but the way the patent leather shines makes up for it. Martin’s eyes follow the length of her leg up to the hem of her crisp white lab coat. There’s not a single stitch out of place and the garment is without a crease. Dr. Capshaw’s dedication to her appearance is quite apparent; brown hair just touches her shoulders and a cruel red smile pulls at her lips. Oh yes, Martin knows that they’re going to get along just fine.

Dr. Capshaw steps through the door and her perfume trails her. It’s similar to one that Jessica used to wear and Martin’s mind begins to churn. Working his way close to her would be his own vocation. He can assist her in one moment and assess her in the next. A new person to thrill, Martin’s heart leapt at the opportunity that awaits him.

“Hello, Martin. I am Dr. Vivian Capshaw. Follow me please.”

Martin trails behind Dr. Capshaw and Mr. David trails Martin from Dr. Higa’s office, through the lobby, and into the infirmary. Martin can’t help but stare at Capshaw’s shoes the whole way there. The loud click of her heels demand attention, but her focused gaze and quick pace lets everyone around her know that she won’t be giving any attention back. Tapping Martin on the shoulder to turn him round, Mr. David unchains Martin’s cuffs from around his waist, and tells him to behave himself.

“Oh, please, Mr. David, you don’t give me enough credit. Why would I do anything to jeopardize me being back at my work? You can trust me.” Martin puffs his chest out and smiles. Mr. David rolls his eyes at the very obvious and lacking display.

“I don’t trust you.” Comes Capshaw’s voice. She’s far inside the infirmary, not even looking in Martin’s direction as she speaks to him. “Mr. David, I can take him from here. Thank you.”

Knowing when he’s dismissed, Mr. David goes back to his post at Martin’s cell, effectively leaving Dr. Capshaw alone with the Surgeon. With more range than normally allowed, Martin stretches with his arms raised overhead.

Moving closer to Dr. Capshaw, Martin comes into contact with her perfume once more and is reminded of the goal he set for himself. He reaches for a file but a flash of movement halts him. Dr. Capshaw’s neatly manicured hand pulls the file off the counter and holds it against her chest.

“Doctor-patient confidentiality, Martin. I’m sure you wouldn’t understand.” Crossing the room to the file cabinet, she unlocks the metal unit, places the folder inside, and locks it once more- patting the keys in her lab coat smuggly.

“I’m surprised you know the very basics of professionalism.” Martin waits for her to raise an eyebrow in response before he continues, “Stiletto’s aren’t proper footwear.”

“I would’ve thought a stiletto would’ve been normal for you.” She slyly remarks back.

“Very funny, Dr. Capshaw, but I take my job very seriously.” Leaning back against the wall, Martin scans her up and down. Trusting his steely gaze to be enough to quiet her.

“As do I. It’s important that I maintain the utmost professionalism.” Reaching behind her, Capshaw kicks a foot up and removes her shoe. She tips her foot under the cabinet and pulls out a pair of well worn loafers. “First impressions are very important to me as well.”

“You wanted me to think you are a calculated, sensual woman who doesn’t pay any mind to the people she’ll be treating?” Martin muses. Running the idea over in his head that he’s not the only one with ulterior motives.

“Who says that’s not who I actually am?”

“Oh please. You wouldn’t be telling me if you didn’t want the validation of your first impression being successful.” Digging his toe into the crease where the floor meets the wall out of frustration, Martin narrows his eyes.

“Doesn't matter if my first impression was insincere, you can’t go back and change it, only alter what it means.” Capshaw quite smuggly unlocks the file cabinet once more and withdraws a folder. “Here, take a look at this file. Give me your first impression of the case.”

“I’ll tell you what.” He pauses to lick his lips, noticing how Capshaw’s eyes dart to his mouth and then back up to his eyes. “You tell me your first impression of me and I’ll look over this file.”

“Martin, you are not in _any_ position to be trying to strike up a bargain, but I’ll give you this: you don’t scare me. Now please, Martin, the file.”

The file has a decent amount of information redacted from it. The name, date of birth (besides the year), as well as the date and location of the case are all blacked out. It was incredibly reminiscent of his days in medical school. It’s a fairly straightforward case. The woman was suffering from anemia based on her symptoms: fatigue, persistent headaches, lightheadedness, and palpitations. All standard complaints for patients with anemia.

Confident in his ability to diagnose, plus the added knowledge that the patient’s mother had anemia, Martin looks at Capshaw incredulously. “Is this a trick question?”

“Only if you treat it as such. Use the facts.” Capshaw begins setting up her desk, moving freshly sterilized instruments from one basket to the next, and giving Martin the time she thinks he needs to come up with a diagnosis.

“It’s anemia. The symptoms paired with the family history, it makes sense.”

“Did you even look past the first page of the file or are you really just that eager to please?” Capshaw scoffs. He’s quite predictable.

“I can promise you, I’ve never had any problems when it comes to pleasure, Dr. Capshaw. So tell me, what was your official diagnosis?” Martin turns and leans against her desk. His fingers eking closer to scalpel she very obviously overlooked.

“She had lyme’s disease and I treated her as such. Symptoms cleared up after antibiotics were administered.” With a grin Capshaw rolls her chair out from the desk and sits on the edge of the sturdy wood. Her legs crossed lazily at the ankles.

“That’s insanity. Her symptoms are completely in line with-“

“Anemia yes. However, her blood work came back normal minus the test I ran for Lyme.” The doctor tosses her hair over her shoulder and stares Martin down. “I know you specialized in cardio thoracic surgery, but Martin, you can’t even do the basics.”

“How _dare_ you.” Martin huffs. His frustration quickly replacing the easy, sexually charged banter he was enjoying. “You ask me to help you and then you insult my intelligence?”

Capshaw only smiles in response. The longer Martin glares at her the wider her smile grows.

“Well, now that that’s settled.” Capshaw stands from her desk and smoothes out her lab coat.

“It’s far from settled.”

Dr. Capshaw watches with keen interest as Martin’s hand nimbly picks up the scalpel she had left out for him. His free hand comes up to the collar of her coat and the fabric crumples in his grasp. With the scalpel in one hand and Dr. Capshaw happily powerless in the other, Martin pushes her into the wall.

Looking down the tip of her nose, Capshaw regards Martin and his steel threat lazily. Each angry exhale hits her neck. The tip of the scalpel lightly scratching against her cheek bone.

“If you’re as good you make yourself out to seem, you know exactly what I'm hovering over.” Martin taunts, licking his teeth, already anticipating the way the tiniest bit of pressure will draw screams of pain. A deserving consequence for the woman mocking him.

“The trigeminal nerve.” Dr. Capshaw says. It’s something so simple that Martin knows he shouldn’t be impressed, the information is common knowledge for a doctor, but her coolness even with the threat of the knife takes him aback.

“Not so dumb after all.” Martin muses. The point of the scalpel traces circles around the nerve, a tease of Martin’s delicate handiwork.

She stays with her back to the wall even though nothing is keeping her there. Nothing but Martin’s hand around her throat. The pad of his thumb stroking up and down the side of her neck. The kind of fleeting touch that leaves someone weak at the knees.

“You don’t scare me, Martin.” Licking her lips, Dr. Capshaw repositions herself against the wall. For a moment, Martin’s hand tightens around her throat and she worries she’s pushed too far.

“I am an expert with this.” Punctuating the last word with a flourish of the blade, Martin backs the tip of it away from her nerve and flashes it so that it reflects back in her eye. “You should be scared.”

“You want to know why I’m not? I can see it in your eyes. You’re curious. _‘Why isn’t she scared?’_ I can practically hear it.” Dr. Capshaw mocks. Her gaze turning heavy on Martin.

Dr. Capshaw smirks, wrapping her hand around Martin’s. The shocks of electricity that go coursing from her fingers to his wrist sends a gasp stumbling free from Martin’s mouth. Even being on the safe side of the blade Martin feels a danger radiating off of Dr. Capshaw.

“I’m not scared because your threat is weak. If you really wanted to hurt me, you’d hold the scalpe _here_.” Using Martin’s shock to her advantage, Capshaw lowers the blade to her throat and presses. “Here. Across my carotid artery.”

“Feeling bold are we?” Marin steadies his hand and keeps the blade where Capshaw positioned him. The normal thrill of having someone’s life at his mercy pales in comparison to having the stunning woman in front of him explaining how she imagines that Martin would kill her.

“Not bold, no. Just stating facts. If you want to cause pain, go for the trigeminal nerve by all means, but pain only will get you so far as a threat. Torture is ineffective because the person will say anything to get the pain to stop. If you _truly_ want to inflict pain, you have to go deeper. Emotionally speaking, of course.”

Martin laughs darkly. Capshaw showing him up when it came to a fictional patient angered him, but her correcting him on his less ethical medical procedures was titillating. “I thought disfigurement was enough of a threat for a pretty woman such as yourself.”

“Well, Martin, there are things I care about more than my looks. My job, or my life for example. Irreparable damage to my face will only scar my beauty, not my ability to be a doctor. Can’t do any good if I’m dead.” Dr. Capshaw’s confession startles Martin. Why would she tell him all of this so easily?

“Oh and I’m flattered you think I’m pretty, Martin.” Her coy smile dismantles any resolve Martin has left to kill her.

The hand that was gentle around Martin’s turns fierce. Dr. Capshaw pries the scalpel off of her throat and is able to wrench it free of Martin’s grasp. It clatters as it falls to the floor and Capshaw kicks it away before either of them can pick it up. She shoves him backwards, and Martin stumbles to regain his balance, his composure, and his control.

Martin snags his hand on Dr. Capshaw’s lab coat, twisting his fingers into the lapels to keep himself upright. A snarl forms on her lips and she buries her hand into the unruly curls at the back of Martin’s head. Eyes growing wide, Martin tests his grip on the coat only to find her fingers pulling even harder on his hair.

Dr. Capshaw pulls Martin upright, using her hand in his hair to settle him back on his feet and to keep him close enough to her that he can smell the faint scent of vanilla in her lipstick.

Martin watches as Dr. Capshaw’s gaze flicks back and forth between his hungry eyes and where his tongue peaks out to wet his lips. In one step, Martin fits his body against Capshaw’s.

“Don’t be gentle.” She whispers.

“Never.” He responds, his mouth brushing across her lips as he tilts his head down.

The kiss was never supposed to be gentle, neither of them wanted it to be gentle. It starts crushing and quickly turns bruising. Martin bites at Dr. Capshaw’s lip until it’s raw and stinging. She returns the favor by twisting her hand still buried in his curls. Growling, Martin opens his lips, letting the doctor explore his mouth. Her tongue hot as it swipes along his, burning him inside and out.

”Tell me, doctor-”

”Vivian. Call me Vivian.” She whispers. It sends a thrill down Martin’s spine to hear her already losing her defenses.

”Tell me then, Vivian, why are you doing this?” Martin’s words do nothing to slow Vivian down.

”Because you’re bored out of your mind and I wanted to see how easy you’d be. Which is very.” Stepping back, Vivian finally releases her grip on Martin’s hair.

He’s too flustered to pay the jab any mind. When Martin softly pouts at the distance Vivian has put between them, she playfully pouts back. “You should step back before Mr. David comes to pick you up for lunch.”

”What if I don’t?” Martin knows that he’s pressing his luck, he’s accomplished so much in such a short span of time. It’d be a shame to ruin all his fun before it starts.

”If you don’t, and you get caught, then you lose all of the privileges you just got back and I’ll lose my job. So, please back up, Dr. Whitly. Otherwise there can’t be a next time.”

Vivian’s use of his title tightens his chest. First she allows him to call her by her first name and now she calls him doctor. She’s smart - smarter than Martin originally gave her credit for - so he decides that it’s in his best interest, for the moment at least, to follow through on her direction.

”Next time?” Martin crosses the room to be back on his designated side.

”Yes, of course. For when I need you to consult on another case of mine.” Vivian speaks with such certainty and evenness that Martin can’t help but wonder if the kiss was meaningless, only a ruse to get him to leave her alone. His face drops, the startling realization that he’s been played by the woman he was trying to play. “Oh, now don’t look so glum. What did you think I meant? Another kiss for us to steal?”

”No, no. Of course not. That would be entirely unprofessional, Dr. Capshaw.” Martin nods slowly, hoping that he’s not misreading the situation.

”And we’re both medical professionals with the highest moral standards.” Capshaw states.

So Martin’s read of her was correct. There’s much more to Dr. Capshaw than a new hire at Claremont. She’s here for a reason, and her purpose goes much further than monitoring Jerry’s improvements. If she’s comfortable enough with redirecting Martin’s homicidal actions, then she certainly is hiding something as sinister as Martin once was.

”Here,” Dr. Capshaw’s voice pulls Martin back to the present, “wash this so the guards don’t have a reason to inform Dr. Higa of any infractions.” Before Martin realizes what’s being said to him, Vivian pushes a bedpan into his chest.

The object is clean, no one at Claremont has a need for it, but still the thought of it puts Martin right back into a sour mood. He mutters under his breath, cursing Capshaw, cursing Dr. Higa, and even cursing his boy for his current predicament. One day, and one day soon, Martin will be free of Claremont and Dr. Capshaw might just be the key to the outside world that he’s been looking for.

**Author's Note:**

> If this was your cup of tea, hold the ketamine, come and join the [pson trash server](https://discord.gg/v3Q8VdK) or feel free to talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tess_genor)


End file.
